The great hall doors closed with the finality of a tomb sealing, the last whisper of recruits fading into silence. The sound hung in the air for a moment, then dissolved like salt in water.
Soren's presence lingered in the room like the memory of a wound, felt but no longer seen. The duel in the courtyard had changed something, shifted the balance in ways Callen Velrane clearly hadn't anticipated.
Lord Callen sat motionless at the head of the long table, his goblet untouched before him. His eyes, cold and sharp as winter steel, flicked from son to son before settling on the mage.
The light from the high windows caught the silver in his ash-gray hair, making it gleam like polished armor.
"Explain," he said. The single word carried the weight of command that had bent a thousand men to his will over the decades.
Kaelen clasped his hands behind his back, his posture casual yet calculating. The sleeves of his robe still carried the faint scorch marks from the morning's encounter.
